Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 130414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
From the corner of my eye, I watched her polish off two trays of sandwiches and a Diet Coke. Once she finished, she peered around and sighed. “I’m not tired.”
I kept my eyes trained on the newspaper. Maybe if I didn’t move, she’d think I was dead and stop talking.
“Let’s make out.”
Since she was still obviously and acutely drunk, and because eau de vomít wasn’t a scent I found personally enchanting, I ignored her less-than-stellar offer.
“Come on.” Shortbread jumped to her bare feet, padding to me. She flicked the newspaper in my hand away and straddled me. “I’m actually tanked up enough to tolerate you right now. This is a once-in-a-lifetime offer. Maybe getting an orgasm will help me fall asleep.” She draped her arms around my neck.
“Give me one reason to help you.”
She offered a toothy grin. “Happy wife, happy life?”
Something occurred to me then. “Have you ever had an orgasm?”
“I think I accidentally gave myself one a year ago.” Her big, innocent eyes widened. It was in moments like this when I remembered what had lured me into stealing her. Where else in America could I unearth such a blank page for me to doodle, scribble and mold as I pleased?
That piqued my curiosity. “Doing what?”
“Riding a dirt bike.”
I flattened my lips so as not to laugh.
“Don’t laugh.” She furrowed her brows, slapping my chest. “My whole family was there. A moan slipped out, and Momma thought I sprained my ankle. I had to pretend it did hurt and even faked a limp for an hour. It was very distressing.”
Was I really about to laugh for the first time since age four because of this little headache?
“Get off my lap.”
“Or you could get me off on your lap.” She wiggled her brows. And her ass.
“You’re too drunk. Not to mention, I’m not drunk enough.”
Her intoxication was the only thing standing in my way of making her come on my fingers. Sadly, the fact that I’d seen that mouth purge out fully digested pieces of macarons, tarts, and custards did not deter me from wanting it wrapped around my cock. I didn’t usually lower my standard to breathing: optional—that was more Ollie’s jam—but I found Shortbread strangely seductive. When Shep had told me his daughter was irresistible, I’d wanted to chuckle. Now I was more worried than amused.
“Can’t you see? Me being drunk is the best thing that could happen to us.” She slapped her hands over my chest. “Let’s have sex. I won’t even mind that it’s with you. And I’ve been wanting to lose my V-card for a while.” Now wasn’t the time to tell her that her V-card would be wasted on my fingers—or my tongue, if I was feeling charitable.
“Evacuate my lap.”
Usually, I got off on being in complete and meticulous control. But with Dallas, for a reason unfathomable to yours truly, it felt like a burden to stay in character.
She dragged her pussy—clothed only with a flimsy thong—along my crotch. Of course, I was hard. All she needed was to exist in the same state as me to make my blood migrate to my dick.
She rolled her hips, her slit dragging across the length of my cock again. “Why should I listen to you when you never listen to me?”
My jaw flexed. “Because I’m very close to obtaining an annulment and sending you back to Chapel Falls to be married off to a farm boy.”
She smacked my chest again. “Take advantage of me, goddammit.”
I wanted to grab the back of her neck, and kiss the shit out of her, and fuck her through our clothes until she orgasmed hard enough to scream. Until she lost her voice. To then guide her down between my thighs and come on that elegant upturned nose, youthful freckles, and big Disney-animal eyes. But I didn’t have it in me to do something she might regret later. Though I couldn’t be accused of ever being in the same zip code as chivalry, dubious consent was where I drew the line. Especially when it was pitifully obvious that I’d have her on my terms sooner rather than later.
I was about to wrestle her to the sofa when she fell face-first into the crook of my neck. “If you’re planning to suck my blood—”
A soft snore broke through my unfinished threat. Then I felt her drool. On my neck.
Jesus Christ.
She’d fallen asleep on me. With my hard-on still nestled between her legs. The smart thing to do would be to put her on the couch and get back to my business. I was going to do it, too. Stand up and rid myself of her.
Only, I didn’t.
Perhaps because I couldn’t risk her stirring awake and launching into another episode of verbal diarrhea. Or maybe because it wasn’t the worst thing in the world to feel her pussy radiating warmth straight into my dick. Whatever the reason, I let her sleep on me. Reading the Wall Street Journal and thanking my unlucky stars that, at the very least, Zach and Oliver weren’t here to give me shit about how undomesticated my new wife was.